


Yuuri on Pointe

by mountain_tea



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: AU - Ballet, Fluff, I totally can write French, M/M, No Figure Skating, Russian Ballet Co. Drama!, Slow Burn, Victor as aspiring choreographer, Yuuri en Pointe, Yuuri stuck in the corps de ballet, ballet for dayz, can everyone please wear tutus?, dancing the feels, minimal angst, silent letters - why?, studio time
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-06
Updated: 2017-01-09
Packaged: 2018-09-15 05:04:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9219971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mountain_tea/pseuds/mountain_tea
Summary: Victor is a premier danseur noble, the shining star of the ballet world. As he grows older, Victor looks to choreography as the next step in his career. But where will he find the inspiration and talent necessary to prove to the world that he has what it takes?Yuuri is stuck in the Corps de ballet after repeatedly failing in auditions. His dancing career has reached a standstill and he knows something needs to change if he is ever going to be anything like his idol. But when Yuuri takes a break from dancing to return home to Japan, he is still left wonder, what will that change be?Ballet company drama.





	1. Another Audition

**Author's Note:**

> This is the very brief first scene in what I imagine will become a much longer fic. I just needed to get this out there:) I promise there will be much more dancing in parts to come.
> 
> Also, I have some experience with ballet but know very little about the ballet company world so if you have corrections/details you would like to see included, please let me know!
> 
> EDIT: 1/9/17 - I added a second part to this chapter that I didn't include in my original rush to get it up. But it's here now. Enjoy!

Yuuri rushes out of the rehearsal hall, grabbing his untouched water bottle and slinging his bag over his shoulder. As he exits the room, he can still feel hundreds of eyes boring into his back. As he had fumbled his last triple fouetté– a turn he’d been able to complete seamlessly since age 14 – and landed in his ending pose, a quarter beat off from the music, he’d braved a look up at the audition panel seated at the folding table in front of him. The expressions on their faces told him all he needed to know, surely to be confirmed when the roles were posted later that day, his name absent from the list. 

Yakov was his usual glowering self, completely unimpressed with the underwhelming performance, and Yurri even thought he saw a glint of anger in the eyes of the artistic director, perhaps for the waste of his time. Lilia Baranovskaya sat primly to his left, the former prima ballerina called in by her ex-husband to aid in the audition process. Her expression was schooled, mouth pinched in her characteristic frown. The worst, though, was Celestino, seated to the right of Yakov. Yuuri’s teacher turned training master was looking at him with… was that dissapointment?

The pitying expression of Celestino’s face refuses to leave Yuuri’s mind as he makes his way to the abandoned locker rooms. Everyone else in the company is still in the rehearsal hall, watching the rest of the auditions. Yuuri deposits his bag on a bench and locks himself in a bathroom stall. 

He’s done it again. Messed up in an important audition in front of the entire company. Sure, many of those seated in the audience probably were too distracted by their phones to watch yet another lackluster performance from a member of the Corps de ballet. Still, it stung to hear that long pause after he’d finished before a spattering of polite applause broke out, ringing hollowly through the large room. 

Settling on the closed toilet seat, Yuuri sighs, pulling out his phone. Best get it over with.

“Hey Mama, I hope it’s not too late to call” He says with forced cheer.

“Yuuri! Of course not, it’s never too late. We value hearing from you.” 

The false smile that had been plastered onto Yuuri’s face begins to slip, remembering the five long years since he has returned home. 

“Yeah… About that. You know the big audition I had today?”

His mother hums in assent.

“Well, I totally botched it. Not that anyone’s surprised.” He says with yet another sigh.

“Oh Yuuri, I’m so sorry. You work so hard and pour your heart into your dancing. Everyone can tell. I’m especially sorry about Vicchan, and I am sure the judges would understand, if they knew the circumstances.” Yuuri feels tears starting to form, held back too long already. Receiving no response, his mother’s tone brightens. “But this means you might have time for a visit home, yes?” 

“Yes, that’s probably for the best.” Yuuri’s voice is tightening. “I’ve got to go Mom, and sorry for disappointing you.” He hangs up before letting the sobs escape.

______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Before Yuuri knows what is happening, his tears are interrupted by the bathroom door slamming inward (curse these flimsy locks). He is yanked upright by someone who is a good deal shorter than him and he registers their expression of cool rage before he can place the face that is framed by a curtain of blonde hair. 

A finger flicks into a point in front of Yuuri’s nose, making him go cross-eyed, as the intruder regally announces “I am joining the company in a month. And there is only room for one Yuri.”

Ahhh thinks a dazed part of Yuuri’s brain. That’s why he looks so familiar. This is Yuri Plisetsky, the so-called Russian Punk, 15 year old protégé who just signed a contract to join the company upon his early graduation from the ballet academy. Having provided this helpful background, his brain decides to turn off again before suggesting any reasonable course of action.

Giving him no time to process, Yuri continues “We don’t need incompetent losers here. Go teach or something, JUST RETIRE ALREADY MORON.” 

Yuuri flinches back from the suddenly raised tone as the younger Yuri spins gracefully on his heel and exits the dressing room. 

Though Yuuri is shaken by this encounter, he is mostly disturbed by how much the younger dancer’s words resonate with his inner thoughts. He does keep failing to meet his own expectations, he is flubbing even basic steps. 

Sighing, for what seems like the hundredth time that afternoon, Yuuri resolves to take the time to make some serious decisions about his career as a dancer. He isn’t willing to just quit straight up, but he knows he needs to think things over before he can face the company again.

At least one benefit of returning home will be that he doesn’t have to encounter this asshole again anytime soon.  
 


	2. Dancing on my own

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Yuuri is an awkward child, Celestino tries to be supportive, Vicchan is a ball of pure fluff, and Yuuri dances his feelings out. 
> 
> Yes, there is actual dancing in this one. Yuzzah!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here is the second chapter of this beast that has been ravaging my brain and distracting me from functioning as a normal human being. (But have I ever been capable of that?....)
> 
> Warning: discussion of pet death and some low-key angst :( (I promise this won't last long)
> 
> Un-betaed so comments, concerns, questions, corrections, etc are very welcome. 
> 
> Enjoy!

After Yuuri stumbles out his announcement, Celestino nods, rather unsurprised.

“Yes Yuuri, perhaps that is for the best,” the ballet master says, not unkindly. “I know you are heartbroken over the loss of your dog, and for that I am truly sorry.” 

Yuuri lowers his head to hide his pained expression. Celestino, understanding his reluctance to respond, continues.

“Is there anything else that is bothering you? Are you getting along with members of the corps?” Celestino feels particular responsibility for providing support to Yuuri, and it begins to show. He, after all, was responsible for nudging Yakov to recruit his former student. 

He was taken on as Ballet Master for the Russian Ballet which meant that he had had the privilege of connecting several of his formal students with the positions of their dreams. Celestino almost squeeled with excitement when he learned two years ago that his most talented student was seeking an audition with the Russian Ballet. It seemed that hardships had befallen the small American ballet company Yuuri had signed on with after graduation, and they were forced to cut some of their younger, though very promising dancers. Though saddened that his student’s life had been upturned, Celestino was also pleased that it had brought him the opportunity to bring Yuuri to Russia, the capitol of the ballet world.

Yuuri is aware of his teacher’s soft spot and is embarrassed by the extra attention, leading him to deflect his teacher’s question about his wellbeing.

“The members of the corps are very friendly and kind. I’m happy to be dancing with them.” All true. He does feel privileged to share the stage with them all, but he longs, as most dancers do, to move up and dance the technically challenging variations allotted only to soloists and principles.

Noting Yuuri’s failure to answer his first question, Celestino presses further. Presenting a neutral expression he comments “I’ve noticed in company class that you are much more reserved around the higher ranking dancers.” 

“O-oh” stammers Yuuri, looking down even further to hide the blush dusted across his pale cheeks. “I just don’t want to distract them from the comments they deserve. They are so perfect, they shouldn’t have to put up with the silly corrections I receive. And they all seem like such good friends. I don’t want to intrude on that. It’s much easier just to keep to myself and go unnoticed.” 

Celestino nods, this does sound like a mentality Yuuri would adopt. At least his worry that members of the company are ostracizing Yuuri appears to be unfounded. “Alright, though you should really give them a chance. They aren’t all as exclusive as they may appear to be.” 

Yuuri gives a slight nod, but Celestino knows that he has no plans to change. Dropping the subject for the moment, he remarks “Well, I guess I should let you get to packing. I will explain your decision to Yakov. I am sure the he will understand given the circumstances, and since you won’t be missing any major rehearsals. Please use this break to regain your confidence, I know you have it somewhere. And don’t forget to train.”

“Yes sir” Yuuri says with a small smile, and with that the meeting is over.

\---------------------------------------------------------------------

The first few days home are hectic. Yuuri’s parents are, of course, overjoyed to see their son and they seamlessly incorporate him back into the household routines. He greets customers, washes dishes, sweeps, and folds towels. In the five years since he was last home, following his graduation from the reputed Michigan Academy of Dance, not much has changed. His mother still smiles freely, his father’s sense of humor never lessens, and his older sister shows her gruff love for her sensitive baby brother. The restaurant continues to bring in steady local business, and katsudon remains the most popular menu item. All that is missing is Vicchan.

The familiarity of this place makes Yuuri keenly aware of his loss. After the initial shock then wave of disbelief tinged with anger, Yuuri had managed to put his emotions on hold as he frantically coordinated the details of his trip home. The urgency of buying plane tickets, begging a ride to the airport, and packing left little room for thought. But now his grief is as raw and fresh, and Yuuri feels a deep, aching loss.

Kneeling in front of the shrine dedicated to Vicchan, Yuuri plays through memories of his beloved pet. Tears trickle down his cheeks, and a trail of snot runs from his nose as he recalls the day his parents conceded to months of pestering. They took him to the animal shelter to choose a dog hoping that a pet would provide their incredibly shy son emotional support and a channel for his obvious need for responsibility. 

Dogs of all shapes, colors, and sizes had peered out of kennels at Yuuri as he had walked by. Some cowered in corners, others napped peacefully, and a few tentatively approached to sniff his outstretched hand. As he reached the end of the hall, one dog reacted as no other had, bounding forward in its small kennel, gently woofing and practically quivering with excitement. When Yuuri approached to investigate this eager animal, he was confronted with a small, very puffy ball of fur with two chocolate brown eyes peeking out of the tangle of curls. 

Yuuri couldn’t help but gasp. This fuzzy creature was so remarkably similar the poodle Victor Nikiforov had adopted last year. Yuuri had read about Victor’s absolute adoration of his companion, Makkachin, which was secretly a large part of the reason he began campaigning for a pet. And here, this dog sat smaller, but otherwise no different. And so friendly and loving, its tail seemingly unable to stop wagging back and forth. 

His mind set then and there, Yuuri had turned to his parents and declared “This one. I want to adopt this one.”

As they walked out of the building having completed the proper forms, Yuuri scooped up his new dog into his arms and whispered in its ear. “I’m gonna name you Victor. After the best dancer in the whole world. You and I are going to play fetch together and I will tell you all my secrets. We are going to be best friends.” 

\---------------------------------------------------------------------

On his third day home, his sister decides it is time for Yuuri to stop moping about. She calls Minako who happily agrees to let Yuuri use her studio in the evenings. “And if he wants to attend class, he is more than welcome. I know my students would adore him and be inspired by the opportunity to dance with a real professional dancer. They just can’t seem to believe that an old nag like me used to receive roses by the bucketful. Ah well. Such is young blood.”

When Yuuri enters the studio, he realizes his body is practically itching with the desire to dance. He quickly changes into a comfortable blue t-shirt and a pair of black tights, throwing on a well-worn pair of white canvas flats. After putting on a basic barre playlist, his restless muscles relax into the movement as he begins to warm up with slow pliés. 

First position, heels together, weight over the balls of his feet. Demi, demi, grand plié. Port de bras forward and back, he folds himself over touching his nose to his knees, then arches back the other direction. 

As he moves into second position, he focuses on aligning his knees directly over his toes, just so. Demi, demi, grand. Stretch to one side, then the other. Don’t think. Not yet.

Now fourth, his favorite position. Yuuri takes a moment to appreciate its groundedness, his right leg crossed in front of his left, a foot or so apart. Demi, demi, grand. His arm right arm breathes up, then reaches forward, around side, back, before floating free to the side again. 

Finally, fifth position. Demi, demi, grand. Reverse the circle, then soutenu to turn to the second side.

Ballet is a form of meditation for Yuuri and he doesn’t let himself focus on anything besides the movement and positioning of his body, at least until after barre warm ups. He goes through the tendus, dégagés, ron de jambs, fondues, developpes, frappes, and grand battements sticking to simple, familiar combinations. It is wonderful to be so aware of his balance, attuned to how his muscles are contributing to each extension, every small flick of a hand, each turn of the head. He is working hard but his breathing is calmed and controlled.

Having completed his warmup, Yuuri takes a swig of water and selects a song on his iPod, moving to the center of the room. The music begins to play and Yuuri begins to dance. 

He feels the waltz of the piano and strings fill the room and falls into a sweeping step that takes him gliding round the room. The tempo is quick enough to signify that this a playful piece, perhaps suited for a court scene at the opening of a ballet. 

As he turns from one corner to the next, his head tracking the path of his hands, Yuuri revels in the freedom of dancing without a plan, following the lead of the music rather than the instructions of the ballet master or mistress. Here he is alone in the room. He need not worry what his classmates think of his turnout. He is unable to look in the mirror to compare his posture to his neighbor’s. He is dancing for himself, for the music, for the dance itself. No one will ever take this away from him.  
With his strengthened resolve providing new energy, Yuuri dances late into the night, the chords of music a conduit for his emotions. When he finally collapses, exhausted, to complete his stretches and roll out his muscles he feels at peace. Grief still tugs at the edges of his heart, but he has found the centeredness that so far only Vicchan and ballet have been able to provide him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More to come (likely starring our favorite Russian + maybe pointe shoes?!)!
> 
> This is very much un-betaed (you probably can tell ;) ) so I appreciate any comments, suggestions, corrections, etc. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> That's it for now. Hopefully more to come? (There is so much more in my head)


End file.
